Awaken
by Crash Ichimonji
Summary: A boat sails from the Imperial City to the east, carrying a passanger in search of the famous Nerevarine. But what awaits him in his birthland? Will he find happiness, hatred, or...both?
1. Red Dawn

Disclaimer: I don't own The Elder Scrolls 3: Morrowind, related characters, titles, creatures, events, or ideas, Bethesda Software and Microsoft do. My character for the Nereverine and my other ACC are the only ones I may call my own.

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Author's Notes Here's an idea I got a while back which I've been turning over in my head for some time now. This is a one-shot idea for now, but if enough of you approve of it, I'll write more.

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Crash Ichimonji of Mammoth Picture Productions presents:  
"Awaken"

_He was once our ally…_

_His righteous spirit vanquished the Arrogant… _

_Slain by his own kind, it was prophesized he would return… _

_And then he disappeared from our plane… _

_He then returned, unbeknownst of his purpose… _

_Reclaimed his mighty title and glory… _

_And then he betrayed our House… _

_And slew our kin… _

_Until none were left… _

_But we will not perish so easily… _

"Hey, we're here," a voice said as the listener trembled on his cot. "What's wrong?" he asked concernedly.

The one who lay in his sleep sat up instantly, gasping at the hellish and strange images he saw just before his eyes flew open. Looking around, the man saw the familiar surroundings of his quarters he was assigned before the trip. He placed his grey hand over his eyes, wiping the sweat off his brow, and turned to the speaker of the words he had just heard. It was a Redguard by the name of Tonta, one of the crewmen of the boat they were on.

'Yes, that's right…' the Dark Elf thought to himself as he recalled the most recent events in his life. 'We were on a boat to the east, to Vvardenfell…And I went to bed last night…But I told Tonta to wake me the second we arrived…' he mused to himself mentally. He looked up at the bald, ebony-skinned man and smiled.

"I'm alright, Tonta. Thank you for your concern," he replied as he stood out of his bed and began to gather his belongings, which weren't many. On the floor were his expensive indigo and manila shirt, his grandfather's enchanted chitin dagger, his brown travel sack, and his netch leather boots. He slipped on the shirt, pulled on his boots while tucking his equally expensive sky blue pants into them, slipped the dagger behind his red belt snuggly, and swung his sack over his left shoulder, the weight of it barely noticeable to him. Then it occurred to him, "Tonta, what port were we to be docked in?" "Seyda Neen, sir," the black-skinned man said as he left the Dunmer alone and headed to the topside deck. Seeing that no one was around, the Dark Elf sat back on his cot and thought to himself. 'It's that same dream again…' he remembered as the images of red blurred his mind again in remembrance. Pushing the thoughts aside, he walked through sturdy wooden corridors of the ships common rooms and went up to the outside.  
It was a glorious day with the golden sun cascading upon the humble town of Seyda Neen. The slaughterfish leapt from the water to catch the early morning dragonflies traversing the clear waters, and the birds chirped merrily in the great oak branches at the shoreline. It was a site that even Native Dunmer who were more than accustomed to it, still enjoyed.

"Ah, good morning, sir," an Imperial guard clad in his people's steel armor said to the Dunmer as he exited the doorway of the ship's interior. "How was your sleep last night, if I may ask?" he said as he walked beside the dark-skinned elf and escorted him to the portside of the sturdy ship, where an equally sturdy dock was connected to the ship by a long board of dark pine that was imported from Skyrim. But that didn't really matter.  
"I slept moderately well," the Dark Elf lied casually as he made his way down the dock to the stone Census and Excise Building he had been informed about. As he came to the door, the Imperial guard who had been with him the whole time opened it and chauffeured him in. The room was moderately lit by the white candles and torches set up at the walls since there were no windows in the room. In front of the Dark Elf was a table with a variety of writing objects similar to the ones he used and had packed in his travel sack. To the left of the desk was an old balding man with snow-white hair and an equally white goatee, wearing a brown robe with studded sleeves and trim.

"Ah, yes. We've been expecting you, Imperial Scribe sir," he said in a Breton accent.

"And you must be the Census and Excise Agent, Sococius Ergalla," the Dunmer said as he reached into his brown bag and pulled out a sealed tube parchment tied with an indigo lace with a golden wax insignia imprinted on the outside of the paper. The insignia was the royal seal of the emperor, and could let whoever possessed it do almost anything. As the elderly Breton opened the scroll, he read it with diligence and interest.

"Ah, so, your name is Bal Or? Almost as in the Daedric ruin site in the south?" he chuckled as he rolled up the parchment and handed it back to its owner.

"Yes, almost," Bal Or smiled back.

"Strange name, even for a Dunmer."

"I know."

"Well, let's get started shall we?" Sococius said as he took out a piece of parchment and an ink-dipped quill pen and began scribbling down words as he spoke to the brown-haired Dark Elf. "Now, how long will you be staying here in Morrowind?"

"Six months to a year, though I may request that the emperor grant me more time should I need it for my book." "Good. Where will you be living while you are here?"

"Here in Seyda Neen. The emperor gave me the deed to a house here in the village. I believe it was confiscated from a thieving Bosmer that lived here."

"Oh yes, Fargoth. Troublesome fellow. Very well," he said as he wrote the notes down on the paper. "Here you go then," the Breton said as he handed the Dark Elf the key to the said house. "Now, your occupation is currently Imperial Scribe, but, what job or jobs are you considering while you stay here?"

"Ah, yes, I was considering joining the Fighters' Guild or the Theives Guild, as I've heard so many good things about both guilds in pay and job opportunities," Bal Or replied with interest.

"Very good. Now, this is customary for all our citizens who come here from other lands: what sign were you born under?" "The Warrior." "Good," Sococius said as he scribbled down a few more items here and there on the parchment. "Now, what sort of items are you carrying with you?" he asked as he looked back up at the outlander.

"Oh, please wait a moment," Bal Or said as he placed his sack on an empty end of the desk, carefully emptying the contents for the agent and the nearby guard of the room to see. "One inkwell with black ink," he began listing off his items as Sococius wrote them down. "Two eagle quill pens, one common shirt, one pair of common brown pants, a loaf of wickwheat bread, a bottle of flin, 565 gold septims, an empty bottle for water, a restore health potion, a Journeyman's Lockpick and probe, the house deed for the home I will be staying in, and this dagger my grandfather gave me," he finally said as he took out his weapon and placed it before the Breton, who took it in his hands to inspect it.

"It shimmers," he said as he turned the blade around in his hands. "It is enchanted, am I right?"

"Yes," Bal Or answered. "It fatigues my opponents and then allows me to drain their energy which I then absorb for myself.

"I see…" the balding man said as he handed the weapon back to its owner and continued to write the descriptions down, ending it by charismatically dotting the last period on the paper before rolling it up and handing it to the Dunmer. "Here you go, hand this to the Legionnaire in the other building next door and you may be on your way. Oh, and please, don't steal anything in the other rooms." "Why would I do that?" the Dark Elf asked as he took his papers, cocking an eyebrow at the man.

"Well, about three years ago we had a Dunmer like you that came here and stole everything in the other rooms and pawned it to Arrille the trader."

"You have my sympathy, but remember, I am an Imperial Scribe; I'm not some drake-less commoner who is desperate for cash," he chuckled as he strode into the hallway and made a right into another room, opening the door to go to the outside, and then entering the other building. Next to the door was a table where a guard in amber Imperial armor sat, reading documents. "Um, excuse me, sir?" Bal Or asked as he tried to grab the attention of the Imperial.

"One moment…" the brown-haired Human said without looking up from his papers. After about a minute of silence, he stood up and greeted the Dunmer with a firm handshake. "I'm Sellus Gravius, Imperial Legionnaire captain of Seyda Neen."

"Bal Or, Imperial Scribe."

"Ah yes, welcome friend," the Imperial smiled as he let go of the mer's hand and looked down at the paper he had in the other. "Your papers please," he pointed to the parchment, causing Bal Or to start before handing the sheet to the man. "Hm…Alright then. Everything checks out. You may go now," he smiled after reading the document and placing it on his table.

"Alright, thank you very much," Bal Or said as he left the building and out into the town of Seyda Neen. Seyda Neen was a humble town compared to the Imperial City, where he was raised, but the fact that he was in his homeland thrilled him. 'And besides…' he thought to himself happily as he walked over to the house at the far north west side of the town that was labeled "Reserved for Imperial Scribe", 'I can finally write my book!' he thought as he unlocked the house with the key he had been given by Sococius.

The room wasn't dark because there was a window to the outside, thankfully. As he lit a few white candles in the home, the room cheered up with soft manila light. Bal Or took note of the few necessities he had while at this house as he unpacked: a bed, a dresser, a fireplace, a cupboard, and a table for doing whatever he needed to do at a table. Yes, it was not too different from his home back in Cyrodiil: a writer's paradise.

'How long has it been?' he thought to himself as he remembered the day he and his father and mother left Vvardenfell to live in the Imperial City. He was only five or six years old when they left, and it had been at least 20 years since then. He felt very nostalgic as he put his common clothes in his dresser, remembering the smell of the Ashlands, his birth place and where he lived for the first few years of his life. Life was good then; there wasn't much going on and Bal Or's wealthy father always provided a good living off his job as a wealthy merchant of House Redoran. His mother was rumored to be an Ashlander, but no one really knew as she died when he was ten years old, never telling even her husband or son the truth. Her father, Bal Or's grandfather, was a wiseman of some sort in his life, but Bal Or only remembered him as a senile man who rambled about strange things. He was the one who gave a young Bal Or the sacred dagger when he was but five years old, shortly before he and his parents moved west.

Without expectation, his stomach rumbled and gurgled in hunger, interrupting his stroll down memory lane.

"I suppose I should get something to eat," he sighed as he stepped out of his house and locked it. He had heard that thieves liked to pick door locks in populated towns here in Morrowind (well, they did this everywhere on Tamriel) and decided he'd make his journey quick and head over to the trade house he had heard about.

Arrille's Trade House was a typical place one could go to purchase basic goods for one's journeys, and it was also a good place to go for supplies for living in Seyda Neen. As Bal Or entered the shop, he was unsurprised by the fact that this Arrille was an Altmer, simply because he expected a High Elf to have a name like 'Arrille'. Bal Or wasn't like the Dunmer and Ashlanders raised in Morrowind who were racist, he actually got along well with other races, including the Altmer.

"Ah, welcome, newcomer," the tall elf said as he counted the last of his drakes in his cash box. "What can I do for you today?"

"Well, do you have any home supplies for cooking?" he asked as he stepped up to the counter.

"Certainly. What are you interested in, good Dunmer?" "A frying pan, for starters," he smiled.

"Well, I happen to have a sturdy iron pan with a solid brown oak handle here you might be interested in," Arrille said as he turned around to pick up the said item from a high shelf and place it in front of his customer. "One of the finest pans you'll find here in the West Gash region. The iron is fresh and is guaranteed not to rust for years if you pay just a little attention to it every so often."

"Hm…" the brown-haired Dunmer thought hard for a moment. "How much?"

"Just ten drakes, sir."

"I'll give you eight drakes for it."

"Ten drakes."

"Eight."

"Ten, sir."

"You know," Bal Or said as he turned on his shrewd mercantile skills he had learned from his father long ago. "This is a very nice pan," he said as he picked up the metal and wooden object and studied it hard.

"Well, thank you. But I'm still asking ten drakes for it."

"It's so good, you must have people lining up to buy them all the time…" the Dark Elf said as he set the trap for the High Elf.

"Well of course. I've got a whole stockpile of them in my storage room to meet the needs of the customers," Arrille boasted.

"Yes, all seven of the townspeople," Bal Or said as he looked at Arrille with a sarcastic grin.

"Uh…I…Look here, this is-" he began in defense.

"A REALLY good pan, but you probably ordered too many of them, right?"

"Well…"

"Tell you what, I'll give you nine drakes for it. The extra is for me to not barter any less for the rest of my purchases for today. Sound fair?" Bal Or said as he took out his small sack of pocket change and took out nine septims, dropping them on the counter in front of the other mer.

"Alright. I have to admit, you're one shrewd customer," the Altmer said as he took the gold and added it to his box.

"When your father's a wealthy merchant, it sort of sticks to you," Bal Or chuckled. "Now, I need some basic utensils. Steel will do just fine for now if you have any."

"Ah, yes," Arrille said as he crouched at his counter and pulled out a small tin with assorted silverware in it. He pulled out a two-pronged fork, a semi-sharp knife, and a dull spoon. "Will these do?"

"Sure. How much?"

"A total of three drakes will do nicely."

"Alright then," the Dunmer said as he took out more of his money to pay for his purchase. "Now, I need a regular plate, a simple goblet, and slab of hound meat. You're freshest please."

"As you wish," the Altmer said as he gathered the non-perishable items and set them on the counter with the pan and the utensils. "If you'll excuse me, I'll get some salted meat in my storage room," he said as he took a trap door to the basement of his shop. A minute or two later, he returned with three pounds of salted and peppered, lime-green hound meat presumably from the flank. "Will that be all?"

"One last thing," Bal Or continued. "A bottle of sujama, please."

"Alright," the High Elf said as he took down a bottle of the liquor from a high shelf and placed it next to the large pile of items Bal Or ordered. "Your total comes to exactly 40 drakes."

"Ok, here you go," the Dark Elf said as he took out nearly all of his gold and paid the man. "Oh, and can I have a sack for all of this?" he asked politely.

"Certainly," Arrille said as he took out a brown cloth sack and pilled the items in it before handing it to his customer. "Thank you and come again," he smiled.

"I most certainly will," Bal Or said as he hung the sack over his shoulder and walked home to eat his lunch.

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After he had eaten, Bal Or decided he ought to take things slow and take a quick nap. For what seemed like an eternity, he drifted into the darkness of slumber, He opened his eyes to find himself in a dark cave illuminated by the glow of eerie red candles. All around him, whispers of a ghostly sound entered his ears. As he turned around, he was confronted by a great beast of no more than his height, but twice as wide as he was. Its face was broad and tall with a snout of several tendrils, had four deep eyeless sockets, its body was clad in brown and red cloaks and robes, and made an inhuman growl as it spoke to him.

"Poor creature, you have lost your way…." it snarled at him in a deep voice.

"Stay back!" Bal Or cried in response as he tried to pull his dagger out, only to find it was not there. "What do you want?" he asked, backing away slowly but at a much faster pace than this creature could move at.

"It is all a dream, and endless cycle of dreaming and waking. But soon, it will all end…"

"Alright, I'm officially disturbed by what you say," he said as he turned around to run, only to have a creature built like him, but with a small trunk in place of its eyes and nose, grab him by his shoulders with its claws. It too spoke in a growl as it to gazed at him without eyes.

"What use is your speech? You shall listen to OUR words and then you will submit!" it snarled at the Dunmer.

"Ugh! Let go of me!" he squirmed in the creature's grasp, only to find that the more he wriggled, the tighter its grip became. Finally, from the corner of his eye, he spotted someone approaching. "Help! Get someone to save me!" he called to the person; but they only lurched forwards with their hands, or rather claws, extended toward him as they neared him. The person was not an Elf or Human or any creature Bal Or had ever seen in his life. He stood over six feet tall, had a long black beard, a goldish disk upon his head, and a third red eye on his forehead.

"What the hell do you all want with me…!" he began to actually sob.

"We're not interested in your words," it said to him as the three terrible beasts crowded around him closer and closer, until their unholy faces were mere inches away from his. From around him, and yet from nowhere, a booming and commanding voice spoke.

"Open your eyes, my Son, for you must see the face of destiny!" it demanded. But Bal Or kept his eyes clenched shut, hoping to block out the horrific monsters before him. It seemed like hours passed as he kept his eyes shut. Just to see if the creatures had left, Bal Or opened his eyes and gazed at a three-horned golden mask with three eyes all staring at him. In an instant, he sat up in his bed, his unclothed chest drenched in sweat. He looked around his room to see that it was still daytime, though he must have been asleep for a good two hours or so.

'Just another bad dream…' he told himself as he slumped back onto his bed, frightened to close his eyes again. Eventually, his mental strength gave way to his physical needs and he slipped backing into slumber.

To Be Continued…


	2. Conversation

Disclaimer: I don't own The Elder Scrolls 3: Morrowind, related characters, titles, creatures, events, or ideas, Bethesda Software and Microsoft do. My character for the Nereverine and my other ACC are the only ones I may call my own.

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Crash Ichimonji of Mammoth Picture Productions presents:

"Awaken"

(Part Two)

Waking up exhausted is the worst feeling in the world. It makes one feel that their efforts at sleep were in vain and that they have to start all over again at the process. This was how Bal Or felt as he sluggishly rolled out of his bed and onto the bitter-cold stone floor of his newly-acquired home. As he looked outside through the window, he noticed that the sun shone quietly as it rose from the eastern horizon, over the peaks of the mountains bordering Seyda Neen.

"Ugh…" he groaned as he stretched his arms out over his head, hoping to relieve some of the tiredness in his body. No luck. All it did was make him more lethargic. "Perhaps a brisk walk will do the trick…" he said to himself as he put on his expensive shirt and netch leather boots, heading outside and smelling the sweet dewy air. He had been to the Bittercoast region a few times when he was a boy, just before he left for Cyrodiil, but the majesty of its simple beauty still captivated him each time he looked at it as the sun poured over the land.

"Good morning," an Imperial guard said as he passed by the Dunmer, typical of his duties of the morning watch.

"Good morning to you too," Bal Or finally smiled as he headed to Arrille's Tradehouse for something to eat.

"Ah, welcome, sera," the Altmer smiled as he stocked his shelf with another set of the iron frying pans he had too many of. "What can I get for you today?"

"Well, first I'd like a small kwama egg," the Dark Elf said as he brushed his long spiked hair back, smoothing out all of the misplaced bed-hair.

"Alright," Arrille nodded as he went to a lower shelf and took out the ivory pod, placing it on the counter. "That will be 5 septims. Anything else?"

"The next thing I'd like is some…information on someone," Bal Or whispered as he paid for the egg while leaning close to the High Elf.

"Well, certainly," the golden elf smiled slyly as he took the money. "Who are you looking for information on?"

"A guy named William Bathon. Heard of him?"

"A Dunmer, like you, right?"

"Yes."

"Of course. Everyone's heard of the Nereverine William Bathon!" the Altmer laughed with joy.

"Oh, could you tell me where he lives?"

"They say he lives somewhere in Balmora. What house, I don't know, but it's DEFINITELY in Balmora," Arrille said proudly.

"Thank you, sir," the Dunmer smiled. "What's the price for that info?"

"No charge for common knowledge, sera. But, I am curious, why do you need to see Mr. Bathon?"

"Well, the Emperor's very interested if he actually became Nerevar Incarnate and asked me to interview William to write a book on his adventure."

"Sounds boring. I hear his trials and adventures took over half a year to complete alone. And that's excluding the Daedra fighting and traveling he did on the side. Yes, he certainly did do a lot."

"Well, for me, that makes it all the more exciting. I love my profession. Now, I must be going now; thank you for the egg and information."

"You're welcome sera. And good luck to writing your book," Arrille waved as the Dunmer left the building.

After his breakfast, Bal Or gathered his essentials for writing: his inkwell, his quill pen, and a good 10 sheets of parchment. It was time; no lolly-gagging around. And so, he set off from his house to the nearby silt strider, where a female Dunmer stood at her post, awaiting passengers.

"Welcome, sera," she said happily as the Dunmer man approached the edge of the dock and replied back to her.

"Hello there. I'd like to know if you can travel to Balmora."

"Certainly, sir. That will cost 30 drakes."

"Oh, alright," he shrugged as he pulled out his gold and paid the driver.

"Thank you sera, now, hop aboard," the Dunmer woman smiled as she hoisted herself onto the hollowed out carapace, with her passenger following shortly. Silt striders were something Bal Or briefly remembered as a child. When he went to visit his paternal aunt and uncle who lived in the glorious city of Vivec, Bal Or's mother and father would use the silt strider service. The silt strider trips were always something fun to him because it gave him a sense of being untouchable as they passed over the roaring rivers, the wild kagouti, or even passing by cliff racers. As he thought more, Bal Or remembered a time when his maternal grandfather still lived with him, during the time he was playing close by a silt strider when he was but a mere child of four years old.

"Grandpa, Grandpa! Look at me!" young Bal Or called out to his grandparent as he somersaulted forward on the ash-covered grounds of Ald'Ruhn.

"Careful, young scrib," his elderly grandfather chuckled as he followed his grandson to the city limits. The old man was wearing nothing more than a brown pair of pants as he watched his young grand-progeny scamper about the city. The old man was in his middle fifties at the time, but could still keep pace with his rambunctious grandson.

"Looky looky, Grandpa," the youngster cried with joy as he pointed to a nearby creature. "What's dat?" he asked as he approached the black, insectoid creature with great interest.

"Little scrib, stay away from that!" his grandfather called out as he ran at full speed to the creature, only to be too late. Instantly, the shalk spat its own bio-chemical fire at the boy, lightly burning his grey skin, forcing a loud scream of pain and terror to fly from his lips. The boy fell to his back, conscious enough only to see his grandfather defending him.

"Die, fetcher!" he yelled hoarsely as he took out his enchanted chitin dagger and stabbed it through the space between the insect's compound eyes, forcing amber resin to seep out of the wound as the creature to fall over in its death. His strength renewed from the magic of his weapon, the old man ran to his grandson, picked him up, and carried him off to the Dunmer healers that resided in the Guild of Mages, hoping to save his grandson's life.

"Sera? Sera, we're here," the Dunmer woman announced as she gently nudged her passenger's shoulder to wake him from his trance.

"Hm? Oh, thank you," Bal Or said as he shook off his dreamy state of mind. He had never been to the city of Balmora before, but he had heard that it was a beautiful city. However, it was far more than beautiful as he gazed at the city's sourthern entrance. There before him was the second largest city in all of Morrowind, the pride of House Hlaalu, and home of the famous Nereverine William Bathon.

'This is where it will all begin…' he thought to himself as his silt strider parked and positioned itself up to the side of another of its own kind, where the brown-haired Dunmer left it with his traveling sack and hopped down to the manila platform where another male Dark Elf awaited to assist the newly arrived Imperial Scribe.

"Welcome to Balmora, sera," he said to Bal Or. "Will you be staying in our wonderful city today or do you need to head over to another town from here?"

"Oh, no thank you," the Scribe smiled back. "I'll be here for a few hours today." He then looked up at the sky to see that it was around two o'clock in the afternoon, which gave him several hours to find this Bathon fellow and then write as much as he possibly could for the day before heading back home. The brown-haired Dark Elf waved goodbye to the silt strider rider and headed down the stairs into the gorgeous and prosperous town.

Not knowing where to go, he ventured around the entire city for an hour or so, remembering the locations of shops and guild locations. Now that he had figured out what was where, he could now investigate for information on his target. Bal Or decided he'd ask the townspeople first, as they were all nearby and outside, which made the situation of locating someone for help rather easy.

'Let's see what this man has to say…' he thought to himself as he walked up to fellow Dunmer. The elf was wearing a green common robe and had short brown hair, and the left side of his face was scarred up to his eye.

"Excuse me, sir," he said as he tapped the mer's shoulder.

"Yes?"

"Um, excuse me, but would you know where I can find William Bathon?"

"Of course!" the Dunmer beamed as he put his hand over Bal Or's shoulder and walked him over to a small stone bridge in the middle of the town, all the while, chattering to him. "A real nice fellow, William is. A true friend. Why, he had it in his heart to forgive all of us Sleepers after the Devil's spell over us was broken. Why, if it wasn't for him, I'd probably still have soul sickness and be blabbering about such ignorant gibberish. Ha ha ha ha!" he chuckled as he pointed to a house in the northeastern most corner of the city. "That's where he lives. Tell me though, why do you want to see him?" the Dunmer asked the other with interest.

"Oh, I'm the Imperial Scribe," Bal Or smiled. "His majesty has requested that I write a book about Mr. Bathon's adventures as the Nereverine."

"Really? How wonderful! Now everyone can hear of his wondrous deeds and acts of bravery. Well, I won't keep you any longer, sera. Go right along and do your job."

"Goodbye, and thank you," the Scribe said as he walked off to the said house with much anxious joy. Here he would meet the infamous Incarnate himself: William Bathon; the man that conquered not only corprus, but the terrible Dagoth Ur and all his lunatic followers too. As Bal Or knocked on the door to the house, he prepared himself to meet a great warrior clad in Daedric armor and wielding a mighty axe of adamantium or something like that.

When the door opened, he was more than disappointed. There before him was a Dunmer man clad in nothing but a pair of black pants. His muscles weren't nearly as large as the Scribe had imagined they would be. Grant it, they were larger than his, but not by too much. The mer's face was normal and clean-shaven, its nose bent a little at the septum, and his black and silver hair was cropped just above his shoulders and parted down the middle, his bangs shorter than the rest of his hair.

The only hint of evidence that this Dark Elf was a warrior was that the front side of his body was covered in asymmetrical scars and burns, showing that he had seen battle many a time. Either he was very clumsy, or he had faced several fierce opponents.

"Yes?" he said sleepily and lazily with glazed-over crimson eyes.

"Um, are you William Bathon?" was all Bal Or could ask as he tried to collect himself from the anticlimax of seeing this Dunmer.

"Yes. Am I needed by one of the Houses again?" he asked as he leaned against his doorway.

"Well, no. I'm actually a Scribe of the Emperor and-"

"The Emperor? I'm terribly, sorry! Please, do come in," William suddenly awoke from his lethargic state and opened his door wide to let his guest in. As Bal Or stepped into the small house, he was surprised yet again by the interior. All around the walls were weapons of several makes; from Dwarven to Daedric, there were axes, spears, swords, hammers, clubs, swords, maces, and even a vast array of unique weapons. At each of the four corners of the room were full suits of Daedric, ebony, Orcish, and Indoril armors.

"Sorry about my attire, I just got back from Vivec early this morning before dawn and have been sleeping since then. Here, if you'll allow me to change, we can discuss the reason you're here." The Incarnate then faced away from his guest and took off his ebony-colored pants for a moment as he then took out a pair of indigo pants much like Bal Or's. Bal Or, at the time, watched the back area of William with interest. Not a single scratch was on his back or on the back of any part of his body, which gave his back side an almost perfect and immaculate appearance to it.

By the time the Scribe realized it, he was staring at the other Dunmer even though his back was no longer turned to him. He quickly snapped out of his stare and looked at the Incarnate in the face, who was now wearing a black shirt with his dark azure pants.

"Please, have a seat at the table over there," the silver-haired Dark Elf pointed to his table and chairs over to Bal Or's right. "So, you said you were sent by his Majesty Uriel Septim? What for, may I ask?"

"Oh, yes. I'm an Imperial Scribe you see, and his Majesty requests that a book be written about your adventures and exploits here in Vvardenfell. He's very interested to know how you defeated Dagoth Ur and saved the land," the brown-haired mer said as he took out his parchment, pen, and inkwell and placed them on the table, ready to write at a moment's notice.

"Ah, I see. Well, I should warn you, it's quite a long story."

"Oh, don't worry, I need as many details as possible. Where would you like to begin, Mr. Bathon?"

"William, if you'll please," the Incarnate said.

"Oh, very well, William," he smiled

"You know, I never did catch your name, sera."

"Bal Or. But I guess you could just call me Bal," the Scribe smiled back.

"Well, Bal, to begin with, I was an orphan raised by Bretons back in Cyrodiil, hence my name," he began.

"Yes."

"And, well, I was always getting into trouble back in the city. Drinking, wenching, and even playing tricks on guards," Bathon laughed. "And so one day, I finally got caught when I was trying to steal some raw ebony to make some money. I was about 22 at the time, and was forced to do hard labor in prison for about a year. After that, that's when the Emperor sent me here to Morrowind. In any case, the ride over wasn't pleasant for me. Every time I shut my eyes to sleep, I had the most frightening dreams."

"What were they about?" Bal asked, curious to know if they were anything like his.

"Well, I kept seeing red images of the Ashlands and the Red Mountain Region. Also, a woman's voice kept calling to me, saying that she was watching me. I later realized that it was the Daedra Lord Azura herself.

"Are you serious? How do you know it was her?" Bal Or asked in shock.

"Well, I'll jump ahead to where my adventures pretty much ended. After I finally defeated Dagoth Ur and destroyed Akulakahn, I met Azura face to face."

"What did she look like?"

"She appeared in the form of a Dunmer woman. But I'll explain that later. So anyways, I was woken up by a fellow prisoner as we docked into Seyda Neen. One of the guards from the ship then escorted me to the top deck and over to the dock. From there, I went into the Census and Excise building where I was registered and freed."

"Hm, not too different from what I had to go through when I came," Bal mentioned as he ended the last sentence with a period. "So, what happened next?"

"Well, you don't have to write this down, but as soon as I was allowed to leave the main building, I…took a few items," William smiled.

"Took a few items? Like what?"

"Well, all their plates, a dagger, some alcoholic drinks, and just about everything they had in the rooms that weren't being watched by guards."

"So YOU'RE the one they said took all their belongings. That's quite humorous!" the brown haired Dunmer laughed.

"Well, I was really concerned about making money here, and always was until I was strong enough to raid Daedra shrines. But anyways, I sold all of the items at Arrille's in Seyda Neen, and bought a few weapons too."

"Boy oh boy, that's quite amazing. I kind of figured you were this perfect embodiment of good and virtue. Tell me, have you ever considered joining the Thieves' Guild?"

"Not only that, but I eventually joined them a month or two after I made it to Balmora."

"What were you doing until then?" Bal asked curiously.

"Traveling and increasing my skills in combat," William responded. "Part of my deal of being released from prison was that I was to work for Caius Cosades as a Blades Operative. You do know what the Blades are, correct?"

"Oh, well, I've heard that they're a secret group of agents for his Majesty. Should I know more about them?"

"Oh, well, that's essentially all you'll need to know for now. When I first met Caius, he told me that I would be reporting to him for orders on missions, however, he told me that I should spend time joining guilds and strengthening myself. So, I did some traveling around the island, doing a few odd-jobs and favors for random people while living out in the wild in between time in the cities. Well, maybe it would be best to say that I went to cities in between the weeks I spent in the wild," William laughed.

"Heh heh, you sound like you really had an enjoyable time doing that," the Scribe laughed along with the hero.

"I most certainly did. After about two months of roughing it, I returned to Balmora to be cured for all the diseases and blights I had acquired in my journeys. Needless to say, no one wanted to deal with me until I had that done. I had even begun to smell like an Ogrim from that whole time out in the rain and ash storms."

"But, you don't smell bad now," Bal Or said.

"Well, that's because when everyone didn't want to deal with my stench, I went down to the middle of the Odai River, stripped myself of all my clothing, and bathed using up two whole bars of soft soap for about five hours. It was nightfall by the time I had finished, and unfortunately for me, a group of bandits decided to ambush me and take all my bonemold armor and gold."

"Well, what did you do?"

"The only I knew I could do: beat them."

"How many were there?" the brown-haired Dunmer asked as he scribbled down more and more of William's words.

"Hm…I think it was somewhere between four and eight…" William scratched his chin in contemplation. "Wait…him, him, him, her, him, her and that one guy with the Dwarven axe…" he ticked off the people's faces in his mind. "I believe there were seven. Yes, seven was how many there were. Anyways, I quickly grabbed my steel dai-katana and fought buck-naked against all of them until they were all dead."

Bal Or tried to imagine William in sans-clothing wielding such a powerful weapon and snickered to himself as he quickly wrote down the image in a few seconds, filling up his first sheet of paper front and back. He then grabbed a fresh sheet and dotted his quill pen with fresh ink and looked up at the Incarnate to relay that he was ready for more information.

"So, once they were all dead, I grabbed my clothes and armor, and then took anything they had that was valuable to sell back here."

"Which included what?"

"Um...I think there were a few enchanted items that could inflict fire damage on enemies, and then there was one that made a temporary shield. I forget. I've found and sold literally hundreds of bandits' items in all my adventures."

"Interesting. So, what about the Thieves' Guild? What was it like working for them?"

"Well, if your skills in sneaking and breaking locks are low, it's VERY tiresome and dangerous. I've had bounties put on me for stealing and even for having to kill some people in my missions for the Guild. But the best part of being in the Thieves' Guild is that you can pay to get your bounty off your head."

"Intriguing," Bal Or noted with finishing writing the last statement.

"Well, I think that's enough of my regular adventures for you to write. I'm sure you're aching to know about my trials and tribulations of becoming the Incarnate, yes?"

"Certainly," the Scribe smiled as he took out a fresh sheet.

"To begin with, let me say something about Dagoth Ur," Bathon mused with a serious look on his face.

"Oh?"

"To begin with, I actually felt sympathy toward him."

'_He is lying…'_ a voice whispered inside the writer's mind, causing him to scratch his pointed ear for a moment.

"My predecessor, the original Nerevar, was a dear friend of Dagoth Ur, and visa versa. However, Nerevar slew Dagoth Ur when he wouldn't relinquish the Tools of Kagrenac."

"Which are…?"

"The hammer Sunder, the short sword Keening, and the gauntlet that protects its wearer from being fatally wounded by touching the said weapons: Wraithguard."

"I see. Please, continue," Bal Or smiled.

"In any case, this is where the story of Nerevar becomes confusing."

"How so?"

"Well, I don't really have much recollection of being the original Nerevar, only a few flashes of images. And, this part of the story has two sides to it. The first is one that Vivec himself recorded," William told his biographer the tale of how the Tribunal was created from Nerevar dying shortly after defeating Dagoth Ur. Then he recanted the Ashlander account of how Vivec, Almelexia, and Sotha Sil betrayed Nerevar and made themselves gods.

"Incredible!" the Scribe exclaimed after finishing the two accounts, detailing how William did not know which one was true.

"Yes, either way, I still had much sympathy for Dagoth Ur because I understood how he felt about the Tribunal making themselves gods rather than destroying Keening, Sunder and Wraithguard. The fellow wanted to see to it that the foreigners of Morrowind be driven out and that the Empire cease its grip on the Dunmer. To this date I sometimes wonder if he and I could have been friends had I not destroyed the Heart of Lorkhan. He was driven mad by the tools, you see."

"Oh?"

"Yes, exposure to the Heart and the Tools had driven him insane with the power, deluding his mind and making him a deified lunatic. I've read his plans over and over, and somehow I still keep thinking that there was some good in his heart somewhere, that had I simply destroyed the Heart and not him, that he would become a good mer once more. It's very complicated, you see," the Incarnate sighed.

"And the Tools? What became of them after you defeated Dagoth Ur?" Bal Or asked.

"I threw them into the fiery pit where Akulakhan once was."

'_NO!'_ roared the same voice that had been whispering to Bal Or earlier, forcing him to flinch and grasp his sinuses.

"Are you alright?" Bathon asked as he came to the Scribe's side and held his shoulders concernedly.

"Ummmmm…" the other Dunmer groaned. "I have a rather harsh headache. I should probably go stay somewhere to rest the night…"

"Good idea, but, why not stay here? It's already late in the evening, so you shouldn't be out wandering Balmora to find a bed. Please, stay here and we can resume tomorrow when you're better," the Incarnate suggested.

"Well, alright," Bal Or smiled as his newfound friend led him into the single bed and tucked him in. "What about you?"

"Oh, don't worry, I've slept on harder ground with my travel bed-mat out in the wild, so it shouldn't be a problem. Please, get your rest," Bathon smiled.

"Very well. Good night," the Scribe returned the smile and drifted off into slumber. Hellish images plagued Bal Or's mind for hours, however, and he soon could not take it anymore. He awoke with a gasp, looking around at the weaponry and armor of the room, then at the still slumbering Incarnate on the floor.

'_Now is our chance…'_ hissed the same voice as before. The Scribe took out his grandfather's dagger. It glowed a hellacious crimson light now, as if it was ablaze. _'Use the tool of my blessing…'_ the voice whispered more. Bal Or got out of bed and stared down at the sleeping Dunmer. With one great stab, or slit, he could cut William's grey throat and end his life with his own hands and weapon. _'This will avenge our cause…'_ the voice hissed on. _'He is our enemy…He will betray those of us that walk in the red light of truth and power…'_

"What do you mean?" Bal asked the voice quietly as he continued to stare at the Incarnate. "And who are you?"

'_I am the true Father of our people and our cause…The real question now is…Do you know who and what you are…?'_

"Bal Or, Imperial Scribe of the-"

'_No! You are not a dog for those mongrel Men…You are my Son…My chosen and blessed successor…The one that will rise and bring our people into a new age of freedom and livelihood…'_

"I don't…I don't understand…"

'_I know you are unable to comprehend this, but, think of me for now as someone who will watch over you from now on…Lie down once more, let me tell you of what must be done if you are to become greater than even Nerevar has become…'_

Obeying the voice, the Scribe went back to bed, and prepared for whatever this voice had in store for him.

"Alright. What do you want of me?"

'_You wish to become my Son, then?'_

"I'm a writer, any story is a good story to me. I'm just going to humor you for now…"

'_Very well, then…Do you know what your grandfather was?'_

"Some sort of wise-man, right?"

'_Not just any wise-man…He was a Dreamer…And he may very well be the last of the original ones that Nerevar has not slain…You must travel to your old home of Ald'ruhn and seek out a the Morvayn Mansion…There are corprus monsters there, but they will not attack you so long as you possess your dagger, an amulet, and the ring…'_

"Amulet? What amulet?" Bal Or asked, only to receive his answer almost immediately. In the far corner of the room, a chest glowed with crimson light through its shut lid. Curiosity got the better of the Dunmer, and he tip-toed his way to the box and opened it. Inside were dozens of sapphire amulets glowing red, as well as a small ring glowing a more hellish scarlet. "One of these, I take it?"

'_Yes…Keep the amulet and ring close to you, but do not let him see them. He must not suspect anything…'_

"Why am I doing this?"

'_Do you wish to become a savior? Are you tired of being the one who writes about the heroes? Now is your chance to become one yourself…'_

Those words struck a chord with the writer. Yes, he knew in his heart that this was what he had dreamed of becoming: someone great and powerful, someone significant that OTHERS would write about for future generations. This was the dream of every writer, and now…Now he had the chance to live out his dream…

"I understand." With those words, the Scribe pocketed the trinkets and closed the box, which lost the crimson fluorescence of before, and headed back to bed. "Alright, I'm going to do this. By the way, just who are you?"

'_I was known by many names, my Son…But you may call me…Dagoth Ur'_

To Be Continued…

Well, sorry this took so long to update, I've had a lot to do since Chapter 1 was finished. I plan to update this as much as I can, what with my other works all being just as important. I already know what is going to happen inside and out of this story, so, writers' block shouldn't be an issue, just time. I wonder, am I the only Sixth House cultist here? lol


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